


Off to the Races

by weekendsareforwhiskey



Series: Born to Die [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, I'm on that Lana Del Ray right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendsareforwhiskey/pseuds/weekendsareforwhiskey
Summary: My old man is a bad manBut I can't deny the way he holds my handAnd he grabs me, he has me by my heart





	1. Off to the Races

“Weren’t you Joffrey Lannister’s girl before?”

“That was a long time ago. I’ve moved onto better men.”

“Oh so you prefer Littlefinger?”

“I prefer Littlefinger’s money.”

Sunbeams beat down on their skin. Music and intoxicated laughter and shouting surrounded them. The pool rippled with turquoise waves, the water almost the same temperature as the sidewalk with the amount of people seeking solace in it. Drinks in hand. Sunglasses perched on noses adjusted by surgeons to meet society’s expectations. Or to fix the damage caused by their favorite little white pick-me-up.

Alayne and Myranda relaxed near their cabana watching all of the Vegas patrons around them. Empty glasses dotted other areas, but the overworked pool attendants made sure their every need was taken care of and their cabana remained spotless.

“Where is he by the way?” Myranda asked as she turned to get some rays on her already tan back. Her black bikini bottoms inched up to allow the most exposure possible. “He usually never lets you leave his side.”

With a smirk Alayne took another sip of her margarita, “He had some urgent business to attend to. Where’s Ramsay?”

Myranda sighed, “He’s been ignoring my calls all morning.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know and I don’t even care. I memorized his credit card info months ago. So we have his rudeness to thank for anything we desire today.”

“Cheers to that,” Alayne toasted in Mryanda’s direction.

Truly they had Littlefinger to thank for it all. He had paid for this specific cabana for the duration of their stay at the ARIA. Ramsay’s ignorance of Myranda…well they had Littlefinger to thank for that as well.

Palm trees dotted the pool area, but no forgiving breeze helped them sway in the sky. July’s hot air had many of them drooping. The desert wasn’t their native habitat and yet they could be seen everywhere in Las Vegas. Some things were just for appearances after all. No matter the cost.

Alayne’s phone rang and without looking she answered mid-ring, purring into the speaker, “Hi honey. All finished?”

“Come upstairs.”

She sighed. Things hadn’t gone smoothly then, but she still didn’t appreciate his rudeness. “I’m tanning.”

“You can’t be with Myranda right now.”

A shiver ran down her spine. So they were taking her out too.

She mock groaned. “Can’t you take care of that yourself?”

Myranda let out a short laugh when Alayne rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Dick appointment.”

“Oh aren’t you a sly girl? Hurry up.”

He hung up, but she continued for the listening ears, “Well when you put it that way how can a girl resist?”

She set her phone down and stretched. “Duty calls I suppose.”

“What a drag. I think those guys were about ready to make a move. I wanted to see Lother in action.”

Alayne looked over at the group of men Myranda had gestured to. Frat boys with Budweisers in hand, tossing a football back and forth. One of the guys openly eyeing them even had American flag board shorts on. Once upon a time… no not even a 15 year old version of herself would have been attracted to them.

“Another time,” she lied. She knew she’d never see Myranda again. Alayne grabbed her bag, slipped her silk wrap around her, and stepped into her heels. Lother emerged from his post in the cabana’s shade to accompany her back in the hotel.

The heat bore down on her pale skin and she tossed her hair to the side letting the cold air conditioning offer relief as they approached the front desk.

“Nice day at the pool Miss Baelish?” The concierge greeted her.

“Yes it was wonderful. The pool staff was top notch as always.”

“Glad to hear. Were you and your father dining out tonight or staying in?”

“I believe we’ll be going out. He’s had a busy day. Would you mind making a reservation Podrick?”

“It would be my pleasure. Is there any place you had in mind?”

Alayne shook her head with a smile, “No, make it a surprise. You know what we like, I trust your judgment.”

“We’ll have your car ready at 7:30 then?”

“Perfect. Thank you Podrick.” She handed him the usual $100 dollar bill.

“You’re far too kind as always. Thank you Miss Baelish.”

Anyone who knew her _father’s_ last name was paid well for their discretion.

Lother lead their way to the elevator and ensured they had a private ride to their Sky Suite.

“Have you talked to Mya lately?” She asked as they looked down at the slowly receding view of the Las Vegas strip.

“We’re going out tomorrow night,” Lother replied in his quiet monotone.

“Oh thank God. Who asked who?”

His lips quirked into a smile, “She cornered me.”

“Good for her. And you,” she laughed.

Their hallway was quiet and no bodyguard was stationed outside their door. She stuck her key in and turned the handle when the light turned green. Lother stationed himself outside of their suite and Alayne walked in.

She dropped her pool bag off on the table knowing it would aggravate him. Heels clicked on the tile and she slipped them off to make her way to their bedroom. The shower was running in their bathroom. Whatever went down earlier had _really_ not gone smoothly. Her body was grimy with sunscreen and chlorine, but she decided against intruding on his shower. Instead she untied the white bikini top and slid out of her bottoms, tightening the tie of the wrap around her waist.

The mirror in their closet showed a changed woman. Long dark brown hair and brown colored contacts she was itching to take out. A younger Sansa had dreamed of marrying a lawyer or a doctor.

Not being a glorified sugar baby for the wealthiest cocaine lord in America. Sansa would never call herself a sugar baby. Everyone else would. Alayne would. Alayne always had to keep up appearances.  Just as Littlefinger did.

She brushed her hands along the clothes in the closet figuring out what they would wear for dinner tonight. The water shut off just as she decided on a subdued grey suit for him and a dark blood red dress for herself. His footsteps padded around the bedroom before she heard them approaching the closet.

“Well look who decided to show up,” he leaned against the door frame with a white towel around his waist. He’d shaved since she last saw him in the morning. Mustache and beard trimmed to perfection.  

“I’m sorry it takes a while to go up 60 floors,” she replied with a grin. The shoes she’d picked out wouldn’t do and she looked at the other heels in her collection. Effectively ignoring him.

Arms wrapped around her from behind, water dripped down his face onto her hair, “You smell like chlorine still.”

“Someone was occupying the shower when I got here so I had to wait.”

“You should have joined me.” He nipped at her neck and rest his head on her shoulder, nose encased in her hair breathing in deeply.  

Her hands tightened over his. “Why’d you need to shower in the first place?”

“Messier than intended. We’ll have to head out in a couple of days. How do you feel about Miami?”

“God no. I’ll take Vegas dry heat and Bolton vengeance over that swamp any day,” she murmured. He played with the ties at her waist. “But there I wouldn't have to wear the contacts would I?”

“Mmm no, but I want wherever we go to make you happy.”

She twisted out of his embrace and pulled him by the hand towards the bed.

He followed her all too willingly, “How do you feel about New York?”

“Too dirty.” The rings on his hands grazed her skin as he slid the white sleeves down her arms.

“I just can’t please you can I?” A dark chuckle escaped his lips when she pulled the towel down. Hands took purchase on either side of her as he held himself over her. A water droplet dripped onto her chest and he followed its path down her stomach with his tongue.

“Yes you can.” Lips met lips. Her back met the multitude of pillows at the head of the bed. “What about California?”

His eyes darkened as he looked up at her, “Sansa. No.”

“It’s not even far…You haven’t cornered the market yet.”

“It’s too close,” he growled and came back up for a kiss. 

Fingers traced up the arms that caged her. Up and up until they twined in the dark, damp locks of hair. His head tilted into her hand. She smiled sweetly and her hands trailed down to his face. His cheek quirked underneath the nails polished with red. 

“That’s not going to work sweetling. California just isn't safe for us.”

She dropped her hand and glared at him. “Nowhere is safe.”

“New York is safer. California is still Lannister territory. We wouldn’t want Cersei to recognize you now would we?”

“We can take her on,” she sighed and moved his arm so she could get off of the bed.

“Sansa…” He groaned as she swayed her hips towards the bathroom.

“We have a dinner reservation tonight. The car’s picking us up at 7:30. The suit you’re wearing is in the closet.”

“Don’t you want to know how Myranda will die?”

“I’m sure Harry will be excited to explain it all in detail over lunch tomorrow. As excited as I will be to break it off with him. He’s not coming to New York with us. You can find more hired help to kill for you.”

With that she closed the bathroom door and started the shower. Immediately the door opened again and she poked her head out, “I’ll need my ring again though. I want to be able to correct people when they assume I’m your daughter.”

He lit a cigarette and laughed when she slammed the door shut. New York it was then.

* * *

 

 

“I’ve always wondered...How is Littlefinger in bed?”

“You’d have to find out for yourself.”

“You’ve never slept with him?”

“I don’t talk about my exploits as freely as some.”

Margaery laughed. A high sweet laugh that echoed in the tea room. Sansa smiled in return and brought her cup to her lips. Too bitter. It burned more than her liking and she could still taste the Fireball they’d both added. She dropped in another sugar cube.

“I’ll brush that dig aside. Renly’s just so great I can’t keep the details to myself.”

The fact that the only bedfellow Renly kept was her brother (and everyone knew it) didn’t seem to faze Margaery. But that’s what their friendship was for: to gain information on both sides. Sansa needed to find out why a Tyrell was a beard for a Baratheon. Margaery needed to find out who Sansa really was and why she was with Littlefinger.

Beside those points, a girl always needed a friend to carry a flask to spike drinks at a tea party. Even if they didn’t trust one another completely. Lucky for them they both had their own.

New York had been harder to slip into than Las Vegas had been. A different scene all about the upper echelon, but with Petyr it was easy to climb the ladder of society. Did the upper crest of New York society turn their noses up? Yes, but did they do it openly while Petyr supplied their dirty habits and fixed the races and matches they bet on? Never.

“Grandmother wanted to know if you’d like to join us at Saratoga next week.”

A last minute off-hand invitation. Sansa didn’t think so. “Oh we’ll be there. Littlefinger’s private box is getting set up as we speak probably.”

“I’m sure it is,” Margaery smiled.

There was a constant sizing up of the other in every situation the two women found themselves in. Sansa trusted Margaery as much as she trusted anyone: Not at all.

But she still needed to play nice. She twisted a curly strand of brown around her ear. The air of innocence. 

“We’d love it if you’d stop by. Those races can get awfully dull and he’s made sure there’ll be plenty of treats for any particular appetite.”

* * *

 

Sunglasses had been perched on her nose. A nose untouched by any surgery. (Well, not yet.) If she continued the lifestyle she had on the other hand... The sunglasses and her floppy hat were long discarded. She took another line and smiled. Perhaps Petyr would have to pay for some reconstruction for both of them. 

“This one’s better than the last product.”

“Yeah?” He leaned over the mirrored counter and took his own hit. “Oh God,” he groaned. A sound that went down her body, weakening her knees. “Definitely. The Greyjoys have been holding out on us it seems.”

He rolled his shoulders back his gold chain glinted under the collar of his purple shirt. After dabbing at her own nose for any excess product, Sansa helped Petyr put his blazer back on. Hands lingered at the collar, brushing against that stupid chain he always wore in public. Keeping up appearances. 

“You look really good today. Purple suits you.”

“Big hats suit you.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to go out there. I hate this whole charade.”

He brushed his hands along her back and gave her a peck on the cheek, “As do I, but we have to entertain our guests. They’re all betting on us aren’t they?”

Sansa looked out at their view of the one-sided mirror. Littlefinger’s private box was full with the whole Tyrell clan there, Margaery sitting on Renly’s lap and Loras close by. Their grandmother was having a chat with Yara Greyjoy who looked out of place in a dress and sunhat. Sansa could have told her she didn't need to fake it here, but that would have been a lie with the Tyrells around.The Martells had even made an appearance. She saw Oberyn glancing around, no doubt looking for his number one customer.

Petyr took her face in his hands and placed an open mouthed kiss on hers. Tongues seeking control on both sides. He pushed her up onto the counter, stepping forward to occupy the space between her spread legs.

“You’re going to rip my dress and then how am I supposed to explain that without seeming trashy?” She breathed when he moved his lips down her neck.  Petyr's first inclination after getting high was always to rip her clothes off. No one would find Sansa complaining about that. 

“I’d be more worried about the white powder on your ass than a rip in your dress.” But he rolled the material up over her thighs anyway.

“We’re going to look like hot messes when we get back in there.”

“Would you have it any other way? We’re newlyweds after all. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

A cheer resounded from the room behind them as the horses and jockeys sped across the finish line.

* * *

 

“What happened to your family Sansa?”

“I don’t know. I ran away with a boy when I was 17.”

“Littlefinger?”

“No. Someone worse.”

They had been swimming laps in the rooftop pool of Margaery’s grandmother’s hotel. The Highgarden. Specifically for VIP use only and closed off for the day to anyone who wasn’t in their party. The two women had taken a break and sat on the edge of the infinity pool looking out at the New York skyline. A waiter brought them drinks on a silver platter. The heat was ebbing and Sansa could feel fall in the breeze. September was just around the corner and what change would it bring with it… who knew?

“So you haven’t seen your family since you were 17?”

“No.”

“Didn’t they go looking for you?”

Perhaps they had, but Joffrey had ensured she never would have known. Then she’d fallen into Petyr’s hands. No not fallen. Walked willingly when he murdered Joffrey for her. Stayed with him when he murdered Ramsay too. But they’d both had their own reasons for wanting those boys dead. There was no reason to go looking for her family now.

She shrugged as an answer. Noncommittal. No truth. No lie. 

Petyr watched her from the shade of the garden bar. Deep in conversation with Yara and Oberyn while they smoked cigars, but not so deep that he couldn't keep her in his eye line. Puffs of smoke punctuating each point they made. He always kept her in his sights. Whether for her safety or his manipulations she never wanted to know.

“I’m so sorry Sansa.” But no empathy or sympathy dripped from Margaery’s tone.

“Life goes on. If you’ll excuse me.” Ever the polite goodbye. She tossed back her Bacardi and made her way out of the pool. Leaving Margaery to continue her swimming.

The water ran down her legs and she made her way over to Petyr. A kiss on the cheek was all she needed in greeting. He held up his own drink for her to sip, but she shook her head. She laced her hands around his neck. A less demeaning while he sat at the bar. 

“So you’ve got Miami all settled then?”

Oberyn smirked at the couple, “Sansa, baby, come on. I _am_ Miami.”

“Tell that to your daughters. They seem to be running the show,” Yara laughed.

He shrugged and puffed at his cigar, “As Beyoncé says, ‘Who run the world?’”

“Girls.”

Sansa pressed a kiss to Petyr’s silver temple as a reward for his answer.


	2. Diet Mountain Dew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're no good for me  
> Baby, you're no good for me.  
> You're no good for me  
> But baby I want you  
> I want you.

California

“I’ll get you anything you need. Anything you want Sansa. It’s all yours. You want coke? I’ve got that. Diamonds? Dresses? Shoes? Whatever you want I’ll buy it. A house? Do you want a yacht? A car? Five cars and a pool? I’d get a fucking miniature horse if you wanted one.”

He was so coked out, on his knees on the floor begging her practically. She knew he wouldn’t remember every aspect of tonight so she wasn’t worried about the emotional attachment when she said, “I just don’t want him to hurt me. All I want is not to hurt anymore.” 

His nose ran and he sniffed, his hands shaking as he tried to rub away the high. He tried to sober up for her but there was no use. When she showed up he’d been deep in a detrimental night of self-loathing over her and he’d taken it out on his body, on his mind. He just couldn't think clearly with her around so he’d tried to make it enjoyable. He crawled closer to her, ran his hand through her hair. The intensity of his gaze frightened and enthralled her. 

“He will never hurt you again. He will never even look at you again Sansa.” 

“You can’t promise that Petyr.”

“I can and I am. I will kill him. For you.”

“Even if I didn’t stay with you, you’d kill him?”

“I’d arrange his death no matter what you choose.”

“When Petyr?”

“Tomorrow.”

She cupped his face. He sniffed again. He’d remember this declaration but she didn't want him to.

“No. Not tomorrow.”

He crumpled under her touch, fell against her chest, kissed the bare skin. “Sansa I need you by my side.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll be by your side.” He leaned forward to press his luck and she stopped him. Moved away to sit on the bed while he stayed on the floor. “As long as it’s your side that I’m by. I want to be as equal as possible. Got it?”

He nodded.

“He’ll know I’m missing. I didn’t take precautions…I,” she laughed but her eyes were wet, “I kind of had a bit of a death wish tonight. Like I hoped he’d find me here and just…”

Even in his current state, his eyes dimmed enough to bring out a tiny bit of sympathy in her. He’d been nothing but kind to her all those years. He’d always been helpful to her, _but not helpful enough,_ a logical voice in her head pointed out. For all his money and influence and power, he’d never actually gotten her out of Joffrey and Cersei’s clutches.

“You’re getting your death wish granted,” he murmured. “I’ll have him killed tonight. You’re safe with me Sansa. Even if you choose to leave, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“He won’t find me tonight?” She held out a hand for him to take and she pulled him up. With a small nudge, he sat down, scooted back so his head grazed the wall. He followed her lead, every movement he passively countered. 

“He’ll never find you. They’ll never find him.”

His eyes never left hers as she came closer. He looked as though he’d give her another promise. One that she couldn’t possibly believe he’d fulfill, but he held back. His eyes were entranced by her mouth, her hair, the way she slowly unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. Each one slid out easily. His hands shook from his lack of movement, but he knew if he made a move she’d scare. She’d run from him and he just couldn’t have that. She eyed the way his throat moved as he swallowed. His hands twitched when she reached the last button and moved onto her jeans.

“Sansa you’re a goddess.” She shook her head. So he continued. “No really. You are unbelievable. You deserve to be worshipped.” Where before he was eager to reach, eager to press his luck and lean forward, he seemed to have lost that confidence. He raised his hands but didn’t touch, instead preferring to ghost his hands half an inch from her neck, her shoulders, her chest, her waist. She watched the way his hands shook, the toll the cocaine took on him. She didn’t like that. His skin brushed her open shirt and the brush of the cloth gave her chills. “I will cherish you.”

“I don’t want to be worshipped or cherished,” she whispered, but it was a lie. She’d already broken for him simply because he seemed to mean it. He was under a spell, her spell, and she hadn’t even tried to cast it. The idea frightened her, an experience she’d never had before. She’d been frightened of abuse but never affection. He could still abuse her though. Joffrey had said sweet things, but then again, these weren’t sweet nothings. These were promises of blood and murder and worship.

“You deserve to be. Anyone who hasn’t, doesn’t deserve to be in your presence.”

Her knees were aching but he looked like he’d die if she came any closer. But then he looked like he’d die if she didn’t. The liquefied state of her stomach made the decision for her.

“Do you normally use this much of your own product?” She asked when she’d settled fully on his lap. He was warm beneath her, his heart beat erratically underneath her hand. Her jeans felt hot and tight and she wanted them off sooner rather than later.

“No,” he shook his head and finally let his hands rest against her waist, only to move them away immediately.

“I’m not going to disappear if you touch me,” she teased. “I’m not some apparition, not truly a goddess as you say.”

“You are, you are though,” he murmured.

His hands still didn’t reach out to touch again so she made them. Even just her hands in his sent another shiver down her body. The small touches weren’t enough though, once she’d grown accustomed to it. His gaze? That was more than enough, his gaze alone could have been enough.  It never wavered when she made his hand retrace the path he’d made before with nonexistent touches. She guided his hand along her cheek, made his thumb follow the line of her jaw, then back up to her lips. A short soft kiss seemed to wake him up enough from his awestruck daze to take more initiative.

She let her hands drop back to his chest, saw the goose bumps that appeared on her arms as a result of his and her combined touch. What started as a game of waiting for Joffrey had turned into something else entirely. There was no death wish in the act she’d initiated. It was an act she’d imagined every so often when she’d visit his bar or when he’d be across the room at a club doing business. His thumb moved from side to side on her lips, tracing the soft, plump pink. While his other hand trailed down her side, he held tight and leaned forward. The gentle movement still surprised her. Her hands tightened on his shirt, the soft fabric wrinkling under her fingers. Where his grip was hard his lips were not as they replaced the emptiness where fingers had once traced. He built up her anticipation, made the liquid state deep inside her, bubble just a little more.

“Sansa,” he murmured. His pupils were so blown, so dark that she couldn’t even see the green in the dark room. He leaned closer and she mirrored the movement. He kept talking even when their lips melded together again. “Sansa.”

She expected him to continue being hesitant, but he broke that expectation when he realized she wasn’t intending on running once she’d gotten a taste of him. The hand at her waist gripped so hard she made a quiet noise of complaint that he misconstrued. He gripped her closer. Tighter. Hands dug into the soft skin reminding her of everything she hated and feared for a moment.

“Easy,” she murmured but then she returned the tight grip. Her hands pulled his face closer, her hips shifted against his. The liquefied state solidified into a tight ball, ready to crumble or melt again. 

Their imbalance landed Petyr on his back. Sansa’s hair fell across his face and when she pulled away to breathe he kissed the curls. She smiled and nipped at his neck.

“More,” he whispered. His voice was gone, dry with the need of whatever she could provide him. “I need more of you.”

His desperate state was a far cry from the mysterious, seemingly closed book she’d known him to be. Yet the book she’d attempted to read was open and she couldn’t even begin to understand the Petyr Baelish beneath her.

“Give me –  “ she started but he cut her off. His lips engulfed hers as his hands loosened their grip to pull at the shirt draping uselessly off of her. A laughed from her gave him pause enough to pull it off He reached for her immediately but she shook her head. “So eager.”

After the teasing, she stood to shimmy out of the skin-tight denim. Where he previously looked at her with adoration and awe, his dark eyes only carried a look of want. He unconsciously palmed himself over his slacks as he took in the rest of her lingerie. She sat back on the bed and pushed his hand to the side so he could unbutton and pull off his shirt.

“Did you even need my help or are you alright on your own?” The teasing tone didn’t stop him, only spurred him on to smirk and unbutton his pants.

“I need to worship you.”

She shook her head at the repeated sentiment. “No, you don’t. How are you going to kill Joffrey if you’re busy worshipping me?” At this point she didn’t even care if the blonde burst into the door and shoot them both; the way Petyr looked at her seemed a pleasant-enough last sight to see.

He reached for his pants to pull out his phone. It was a short second before he looked back at her with the phone held out. A message full of letters and numbers that made no sense to her was all she could see.

“I’m not sure I know what I’m looking at.” She came closer, her thighs straddled his and she skimmed her hand across his growing erection. The silk of his boxers was soft to the touch and she smiled at the choice. 

His eyes closed, the lids covering any motion beneath the lids that paralleled the way he tilted his head back. Sansa grinned, her teeth gleaming while she just stroked the silk with her finger tips, waiting for an explanation before she granted him the feeling of her palm wrapped around him.

He swallowed and opened his eyes. “It’s a code very few know. The time.” He pointed to a grouping of letters. “The place.” A grouping of numbers. “And who.” A mix of both.

“Teach me,” she said as her hand slid beneath the silk.

“Can we…perhaps do that lesson another time?” He breathed harshly. “I will. I promise I will. Just not now. Please.”

“Do you need me Petyr?”

It’s the first time she’d called him by his first name. Not Littlefinger. Not Mr. Baelish. Just Petyr, as he’d always asked her to.

“Yes, Sansa. God do I need you.”

“You certainly seem to want me.” She inched the waistband down so they could both watch her hand slowly move up and down over him. “How long have you need me though? It can’t have been when we met.”

“It was – fuck – It was the fundraiser.”

The day didn’t ring a bell but she couldn’t think too hard as his hand met her to increase the pace. He leaned forward and kissed her again, his teeth bumped into hers as he opened her mouth.

“I need to,” he tried to lean forward so she’d fall back but she put one hand back to steady herself and shook her head.

“No Petyr.” She was overheated, her body hummed with a need for him but she wouldn’t concede. Not until she knew Joffrey was dead. “You’re so close already. Why wait?”

He opened his mouth but she just covered it with her own. It was too easy to put a stop to whatever he was planning on saying. And he was so close. She kept working him, a little unsteady in her movements but soon enough his hips moved up against hers, halting her hand for a moment.

“Now what did I say Petyr?” She gave him a quick squeeze that left him gasping in pain. Or pleasure. She couldn’t tell if he could even tell the difference anymore. “ _No_. Neither of us has time for equal participation.”

“Later then?” He groaned and his back arched.

She nodded and smiled as he finally came. His breathing still came harshly but she leaned in to kiss him again anyway, trying to let some of her own built up energy out through the action. “That’s better isn’t it?”

He reached for her hand, ignoring the mess he’d made on it. “Sansa, you won’t leave me? You’ll stay with me?”

She cupped his cheek with her free hand as his grip tightened on her other. She kissed him again, a slow softer one reminiscent to the beginning of their night. He was losing time. She was losing time. Valuable when it meant life or death. But he seemed to need some sort of reassurance that she’d be there when he got back. That she’d really keep her promise as he was supposed to keep his.

“As long as you don’t give me a reason to leave you Petyr, I’ll stay by your side.”

* * *

 

New York

“Sansa get back here.”

“No.”

“If you don’t come back in this room right now then don’t come back at all.”

“Fine.”

She slammed the door behind her. The commanding tone he used ringing in her ears. No matter what he thought he could do, she wouldn't allow him to treat her like a child. One of them would make the first apologetic move later that night or the next morning. It would be solved. They were both too enmeshed in each other’s dark, dirty secrets for them to ever end it.

Obstinate. Neither would ever admit they were wrong in the moment.

Abstinence. Too twisted together to go a day or two without the other as a bedfellow. But it wasn’t just the act of sex, she thought. She could go without having sex with him for a day. It was about not having his touch. His eyes on her. Her eyes on him. Being able to be by his side. To be able to feel his stature next to hers and to know just how well they work together. When they weren’t fighting.  

And when they were fighting “their” money wasn’t her money anymore. Something made known to her every time they fought. She hated how dependent she was on him when it came to money. But she always found a way, since their fights happened more often than not, since the move to New York. She didn’t use Littlfinger’s cars. Littlefinger’s people. Her own small fortune was stashed away, but she’d save the trial of retrieving the money for the rainiest day. A part of her still held onto the old ways. They’d use her and abuse her. So she could never truly trust anyone. Not even Petyr. One day he could tire of her. Truly mean it when he said _don’t come back at all_. A dark thought that only came to her in moments like her current one.

She picked a specific contact on her phone for this fight so she could use it to her advantage and get some work done. And before she’sd even gotten to the elevator Margaery answered her phone call. Waterworks were necessary. _This is what friends are for Sansa_. As if they were actually ever truly friends. When the elevator dinged, announcing her arrival to the lobby of their latest Manhattan hotel, a doorman had already opened the car door that was sent for her. It was only ten minutes before she was in Margaery’s spacious apartment, sipping champagne, improvising a story with all the drama included.

“What did you fight about? Money?”

“No not money. Never money.”

“Really? I feel like you’re both so obsessed with money.”

A dig. Not even a hidden one. New money. Showmanship. That’s all that Margaery thought of them. Well good. She fell for the lie. Sansa continued the storyline. What lie to tell next? What was something they’d never truly fight about that would appease Margaery? What would she believe?

“He wants me to get pregnant.”

Maragery was quiet for a moment. Considered it. Considered her response she’d say out loud instead of the judgment that was most likely running through her mind. The conversation she’d have later with her friends. _You know the Baelishes? They’re going to have a baby. Can you imagine that trash?_

Instead, she shrugged. “I guess all men want to truly solidify a relationship with a copy of themselves inside of their wives.”

“ _Exactly!_ He’s so selfish.” Sansa implored. Laying on the exaggeration.

“Well, not _that_ selfish. It’s a major part of societal expectations and-” The strawberry blonde tapped Sansa’s stomach. A gentle tap, the friendliest she’d been all afternoon. The friendliest she’d been in their time knowing each other. “The kid would be half you as well. Or are you dead set against ruining your figure?”

“I’m not _that_ obsessed with my looks. Asshole.” Sansa laughed and contemplated. “I wouldn’t mind having a child. I wouldn’t even mind having Petyr’s child.” And that wasn’t an untrue statement, not that he would ever broach the subject. She continued the show though, with something so unlike Petyr that she couldn’t wait until they get over their actual argument so she could annoy him with the reenactment of this part. “It’s the fact that he puts it as, ‘I think it’s time for me to put a baby in you.’”

“He did not fucking say that.” Margery’s eyes widened.

“He. Fucking. Did.” Not. He never would. She’d kill him if he ever did.

“I can’t even imagine him saying that to you. What a prick.”

“Seriously, I just,” she sighed. “Sometimes I wish I would have chosen a different life. A different man. Not that you’d ever understand. You’re perfect. Renly is perfect. Loras is perfect.” The urge to include Loras was too strong not to give in but she tried to cover the dig as she leaned back and gestured with her glass at the multi-billion dollar home. “This is all perfect.”

Margaery smiled kindly. Sansa had never seen her lips turn this way and she knew Margaery wasn’t sold just yet but she was almost there.

“Everything isn’t always as it seems Sansa. Especially in this city.”

Sansa took another swig of her champagne. Thought of her parents. Of Joffrey. Anything to get the tears out. And they fell. Quickly. “I’ll drink to that.”

Then it was quiet. A weighted silence that meant something was coming. The tension could only be cut by whatever Maragery had to say next.

“I’ve grown to trust you Sansa. I know you don’t trust me, but we’re becoming _friends._ I feel that and I never feel that with anyone.” Margaery scooted closer so that her knees were touching Sansa’s. She wiped at Sansa’s eyes with her fingers. Her soft skin wicked away the salt water and then cupped Sansa’s cheeks. “Can I trust you with something important?”

Sansa decided a tipsy mask was important. As she leaned her head into Margaery’s hands hers went to Margaery’s knee to squeeze gently. “I’m here pouring out my marriage problems on your couch M. I already trust you completely. You can trust me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She dropped her hands from Sansa’s face and reached for the champagne bottle which she emptied into their flutes. After she took a sip, that was more of a gulp, she seemed to come to terms with saying it out loud. “Our marriage isn’t perfect because it’s a sham. And it’s only a sham because Renly doesn’t love me and it’s been that way since we first met.”

“Does anyone actually love anyone in a marriage though?”

“I’m serious Sansa. His tastes for love and lust aren’t something I can fulfill, but his brother’s company needs…” She took another sip, tears dotting her eyes and laughed. “His brother’s company needs to be less homophobic to be perfectly honest. But they never will be. And I do love Renly. In a brotherly way. But he loves my brother in a not-so-brotherly way. It’s just…I’ve started to feel things for another person and it’s not nearly as easy for me to have something on the side as it is for him.”

“Oh, how terrible,” Sansa said. The surprise wasn’t due to the truth. She’d known that for ages. It was the shock at how genuine the performance seemed to be. How quick Margaery was to _trust_ her with that bit of her life.

“It is. So many people have caught my eye in the past but I just had to act like nothing was amiss. This one is more difficult.” She sipped again and looked away from Sansa, ran her hand along the plush couch, the cashmere throw on the back. “We truly only have to keep it up until his brother dies and then he’ll take over. Stannis wants nothing to do with the company after what Robert has done to its reputation. Money isn’t equal to morality for Stannis and he’s _very_ high and mighty,” Margaery laughed and finished off her drink. She barely even needed Sansa to even look at her let alone speak so she could go on. The therapeutic floodgates were open and she wasn’t stopping them. “It won’t be long until Robert dies anyway. The amount of prostitutes he hires, the drinking, the drugs. I’m surprised Petyr doesn’t supply to him yet.”

“He keeps such a clean façade though. There’s no media coverage of any of that. I just can’t believe it,” Sansa continued to lie.

“Under all those barbs, under the façade of being Littlefinger’s wife you’re just a sweet little doe aren’t you Sansa?” Margaery touched her face again. “How did he trap you?”

Her eyebrows furrowed before she could stop them. The bullshit senses tingled as Margaery stroked her cheek. “He didn’t trap me. I chose him.”

“But if you could choose another? Would you ever?”

Would she ever choose another? Would she ever choose to live a normal life that Joffrey had never ruined? _Absolutely_. But that answer isn’t dependent on Petyr. As far as Margery knew Petyr was the man who’d ruined Sansa’s life when really he was the only man who’d helped her life. It wasn’t ideal but it was what she had.

That wasn’t the answer the character she was playing was supposed to give. That wasn’t the answer Margaery wanted to hear. Sansa turned to the window, gazed out at the New York skyline as if she was fighting some inner demon. “Maybe. But he didn’t trap me. I wasn’t _coerced_.”

“Oh of course not, I should have never said that.” Margaery’s fingers went to Sansa’s hair. She stroked a few strands back and smiled. “Would you ever choose another man?”

Sansa shook her head before she could think to waver. There was no doubt anymore over whether she’d choose Petyr.

“Would you, given the choice, choose a woman?”

And Sansa knew Margaery was showing some bit of her hand. Perhaps not the full hand, but it was enough for the moment. “I – I’ve never really thought about that.”

“You haven’t? Ever?”

Sansa put her  _doe_ face on, wide eyes and a careful slow shake of her head.

“Would you like to try?" 

A small nod was all she needed. Margaery’s lips were soft and Sansa had enough alcohol that kissing her didn’t sound like such a bad idea. She wasn’t lying when she’d said she hadn’t tried. There’d never been anyone, never been an inkling to even try. A slight moan, not a full one, a sound closer to a whine than a moan came from high in her throat and she felt her partner’s lips curve up. She smiled back and let Margaery’s tongue trace the tips of her front teeth before meeting it with her own.

“Well, look at this pretty picture.”

Sansa broke away immediately, a juvenile blush erupting across her cheeks. Margaery was less abashed as she leaned back to assess her husband and brother.

“Renly. Loras. Cock-blocking per usual.”

“Is it really cock-blocking though? Since neither of you has one?” Loras plopped down next to Sansa with a grin.

“Wouldn’t it be pussyblocking? No that doesn’t really sound as clever,” Renly laughed when he sat on Margaery’s side of the sofa. “Beaver blocking. There it is.”

Sansa looked away when Renly and Loras laughed at their own perceived wittiness. Margaery smirked. A shame rose in her, outweighing the slight intoxication of alcohol and Margery’s sweet lips. She’d been pissed at Petyr and wanted to prove herself and hadn’t realized that she might have gotten in a little too deep.

“I shouldn’t have-”

“Oh no don’t start with that darling. Your husband won’t mind. He’d probably have you detail it. Add it to the wank bank for later.” Loras pet her head affectionately.

“It’s so nice to see Margaery with someone she adores,” Renly kissed his wife’s head. “It’s been a while for you hasn’t it my dear?”

“If you want to go home I won’t fault you Sansa. These two are complete asses. Go check on Petyr.”

A small realization that none of it was real and it was all staged started to ease into her mind. Something to use against their little doe-eyed, new money friend Sansa Baelish. The shame crept a little deeper.

“I should,” she jumped up, continuing this new role she’d had thrust upon her. “I will see you again though right? Soon?”

She tried to get the pitch just right. Enough innocence, enough want, and just a little bit of desperation.

Renly and Loras exchanged a side-long glance, but her main focus was on Margaery’s quirked brow and lips. She slowly rose up and linked arms with Sansa. “Let me walk you out.”

They got to the front door, hidden from the living area when Sansa pulled Margaery to her again. Her lips were insistent, urgent, she tried to imagine the first time Petyr kissed her and channeled that. But she didn’t need it for long when she opened her eyes and saw Margery’s closed. Doubt over whether it was real or fake continued to wage a war in her mind. Margery’s hands threaded through Sansa’s curls, the soft fingers gently pulling on her hair in a move so reminiscent to Petyr’s that she broke away again before Margaery could.

“We’ll see each other again. I’ll text you an address and a day. You should check on Petyr.”

 

* * *

 

After a short car ride turned long from the traffic she arrived back at the hotel. He’d been in the living room reading when she strode to their room without so much as a look in his direction. She knew he’d follow her, knew she’d only have a few moments to change to enact the plan she’d come up with on the ride over.

“You’re back already? Did Margaery have nothing to say?” He called to her retreating form.

She didn’t give him an answer just tossed her clothes to the side and pulled on a pair of black stockings and his favorite violet lace set. Of course, he’d had someone follow her. Or he just knew Margaery was the only one in the city she could go to. Yara was in California. Oberyn was back in Miami. They weren’t her _friends_ anyway. They were colleagues. Petyr’s colleagues. She heard his footsteps coming into the room so she stepped out and leaned against her vanity.

“Sorry did you have a question Petyr?”

He smirked and let her lead him to the bed like so many times before. This was the usual end of their fights. She’d dress up, or down, and he’d get what he wanted. They’d talk it out afterward and get on with business. Get on with life. Sansa was still too pissed and conflicted for that.  

“Did you lie through those pretty little lips?”

“Stop belittling me.”

Petyr was already right where she wanted him; right where he wanted to be too. Long legs straddled him, her black hosiery rubbed against her skin and his slacks; the sound elicited a pavlovian response. His hands wandered up and around, but she stopped him. She placed her own on his neck, applied the minutest amount of pressure. He smirked. She pressed harder, his gold chain digging into her palm, and he closed his eyes.

“What? They are pretty.” He dragged his nails along her tights knowing they weren’t long enough to rip the fabric. There wouldn’t be any runs in her tights by his hand. She shivers and he smiles wider.

“Robert’s dying. And the company’s homophobic.”

His eyes opened and her hand moved away from his throat to undo the gaudy piece of jewelry. His tie followed. She tossed the gold to the floor, but kept the tie.

“Careful. There you go just tossing my belongings around like you toss useful information around. Are you still mad at me?”

The purple silk wasn’t difficult to maneuver around his wrists. He didn’t fight her when she raised his hands above his head; just gazed at her in smug wonderment. All she wanted was to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of his face. He hadn’t apologized and she wasn’t planning to either.

“Would you like to hear what else Margaery had to say?” _Would you like to hear what she did?_

She kept the last bit to herself not wanting to give him any bit of pleasure from something she was so unsure of in the first place. Buttons easily released from their fabric hold, leaving his chest bare. Her hand lightly trailed his stomach. A shiver coursed through his body when she edged closer to the spot his own happy trail led. Then her hand immediately went back up to his chin.

“I’d rather wait to hear. I have other things on my mind,” he replied with a lift of his tied hands. “I assume this is your apology?”

Sansa chuckled; a finger lightly tracing the dark scar. The skin still puckered from the knife wound after so many years. He shifted his hips under her weight. “An apology you say? Why would _I_ apologize?” The gentle touch became violent when her nails scraped against his chest.

A breath of a laugh escaped his lips. Sansa undid his belt and shimmied his slacks off of him when he raised his hips to help her out.

“Because you should,” he groaned when her fingers tighten around him. With two successive rubs, he groaned again. God, if that wasn't attractive enough to make her keep going.

She leaned over him, lips and teeth grazing his neck before she nipped his ear. “No, _you_ should.”

With that, she exited the bedroom shutting the door on his harsh cry of anger.

* * *

 

“You left me tied up with a hard-on.” His shirt was hanging open over his boxers when he came out to find her reading on their living room couch.

“The tie wasn’t that tight. You were obviously able to get out and take care of yourself.”

He took the book out of her hand and tossed it on the table. “You left me. Twice today.”

“You told me to leave once,” she said and stood to retrieve her book.

“Oh no you don’t.” His arm wrapped around her waist and forced her back on the couch. After a bit of a tussle she was flat against her back and he’d got her between his knees. A reversal of their position just fifteen minutes prior. She timed him. “We’re going to settle this.”

“Are you just going to use your usual solution? Fuck it out of me and everything will be alright?”

“No. I won’t use sex as a weapon against you. I don’t take cheap shots like someone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Let’s think back to a month ago when you thought I was eyeing Oberyn and Ellaria and you wouldn’t listen to reason just-”

“That’s different!”

“How?” She yelled back just as indignantly. “We miscommunicated and you wanted to solve it with sex. The same thing happened today, except I wasn’t about to reward you and act like you didn’t do anything wrong when you were an asshole.”

“What we’re debating over is stupid.”

“It’s not a debate. It’s a fucking fight Petyr get it right.”

“Fine! What we’re fucking fighting over is stupid!”

“Yes, it is. You should just admit that you’re wrong and apologize for blowing it out of proportion.”

He groaned in frustration and hung his head. “No, it’s the other way around my dear. You shouldn’t stick your nose into business that isn’t yours.”

“You said all of your business was my business. _Our_ business.”

“The particular business you were looking into was not _your_ business.”

“Why are you hiding something from me? Why are you doing side business without me?”

That was the real truth of the matter. There had always been secrets, but she was in on them. Once she’d followed him, once he’d murdered Joffrey, he’d taught her everything and kept her included. He’d never been so blatant if he’d ever hidden something from her before. She wished she could say he’d never hidden anything from her but she knew there was no truth in that.

“Because it’s not ready yet.” He nuzzled her neck and she jerked away.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” She pushed away and he let her as he sat back on his heels.

“You don’t need to know this. You aren’t involved in every aspect of the business just as I’m not involved in every aspect of your business.”

“Yes, _my business_ which involves looking fuckably gorgeous and being your sugar baby and acting like someone I’m not all because you killed my abusers. I’ll never be able to repay you so now I’m indebted to you forever. What lovely business I have.”

He blinked at that, his body shifting away from her. Breath blew between his lips like he’d say something but no words followed. Instead, he got up and walked back into the bedroom. The spot he left open on the couch seemed like a wider empty space than it actually was. She strained to hear what he was doing behind the closed door but couldn’t hear a thing. The entire suite was silent. A plane passed by, a black dot in the sky that she couldn’t hear either, only watched as it passed by so quickly. She tapped her foot against the edge of the coffee table just to hear something but even that was too quiet. Just as the eerie quiet seemed like it was closing in on her like the end of a dark tunnel the door opened and Petyr walked out.

“I’ll be back in a few days.” He was dressed in a suit with one of his overnight bags in his hand.

“You’ll come back?” Her voice was quiet when moments before all she wanted was to yell. This wasn’t how he was supposed to act. Hewas supposed to apologize, not leave her.

He walked toward her and kissed the top of her head. “Please be here when I come back.”

“Petyr leaving _isn’t_ going to solve this. I just want to talk about it.”

“But you don’t. You don’t actually want to talk about it. At least, not right now. And truthfully, neither do I. I’ll let you know when I'm heading back.”

With more pressure, he kissed her head again but moved before she could turn to look directly at him. His shoes clicked on the wood paneling and then the door hissed closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had almost been one year exactly since I published this one. I don't know what it is about the month of August that just inspires cocaine sugar daddy but it does? See you next year for the next update! (Kidding. Sort of.)

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a series I'm working on.  
> I don't own any of Lana Del Ray's songs nor do I want to make a profit off of them.
> 
> This was supposed to be the second in the series, but it's not all cocaine sugar daddy Baelish and I figured that's what we needed after last night's episode.  
> What a damn doozy. I'm still here writing fic for these two until GRRM finally publishes his book though. 
> 
> I make no promises on this series or Not a Political Science Major...or Shakespeare and Co. I'm awful I know.  
> I'M SORRY I LOVE YOU ALL THOUGH #MakeKelseyFinishADamnFic  
> (If you got a follow back on tumblr from theclumsyspy dat's me.  
> I'm just a tumblr novice and don't want to restart either of my accounts)


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